The forgotten sister
by The unknown sister
Summary: The story of a girl called Jesse - a trained assassin raised in Boston. Told from her POV. Features old and new avengers. O/C. AU. M for language
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: In the beginning.

You know that feeling as a kid when you hit 10 and suddenly you think you're all grown up 'cause you got 2 digits to your age, and then that same thing happens at 13 when you become a teenager? Well, I got that feeling hard at 18. I was an adult and damn it I was gonna let everybody know!

I was brought up in Boston, Mass. in what has to be the shittiest neighbourhood the city has to offer. I remember when I was 7 we had the feds at our door asking about our upstairs neighbour, asking if we'd seen anything suspicious. Turns out he was in charge of drug distribution for the Boston Mob. The cops had been after him for years and he was sent down for over half a century. That's a damn long time!

I was raised by 2 people I believed to be my parents. Even at a young age I knew what they were doing was wrong. But they were my parents, they were all I had, I loved them and even as a kid I knew I would never tell on them. Ever.

My father's work would take him away for long periods of time. If we were lucky it was just a few days, sometimes weeks and on one occasion he was gone for nearly 3 months. Most of the time he never received any injuries but, you know, being in his profession – it was to be expected.

The first time I held a gun I was 5 years old. My father was away and my mother had gone out to get groceries. I thought it would be fun to see what was underneath their bed – despite being distinctly told to remain in front of the television. The black case had been left ajar – all I had to do was open the lid. And there it was! Even now, I can clearly remember its heaviness…

'PUT THAT DOWN! PUT THAT DOWN NOW!'

Apparently in my excitement and awe I had completely failed to notice my mother returning home from the shops. I dropped it immediately. I don't remember what happened after that.

The next time I held one again I wasn't being disobedient, rather I was aiming it at a target that was roughly the shape of a person. I must have pulled that trigger a thousand times that day – I could barely use my arms for days afterwards. To this day, I'm not even sure if any of those bullets actually hit the target. Aiming is not easy when you're not even old enough to have a fully developed sense of hand-eye co-ordination.

As I grew in height, I also grew in confidence and skill. I was 7 the first time I got through a training session without missing the target, 9 before I could consistently hit the head. I wasn't just training in hand guns either. Oh no! I was using rifles, shotguns, arrows and knives. I think I even threw an axe on one occasion. I'm making this sound like I had an unhappy childhood – but that wasn't the case. Yes, it's true that by the age of 12 I was considered to be extremely dangerous but I still got to be a kid! My parents sent me off to the scouts at 6 and I went to karate and swimming class to – all so I could socialise with other children. I was home-schooled – obviously, so this was considered just as important as the training. At 13 I joined the JROTC to get some semi-official army training - as my father would say: 'A little bit of army discipline don't do no-one no harm'. I have the tendency to agree.

At 16 my aim was declared perfect – my speed: incredible. I had a little way to go in terms of strength – 16 year old girls don't typically have the strength of Hercules. I was, very nearly, as dangerous as my father.

It was at 16 that they announced my childhood to be over. They declared that I was ready.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: How to deserve a lifetime inside

Let's cut the bull here. My father was an assassin, a damn good one. My mother 'ran the business' arranging clients, taking the money, acquiring property, distributing weapons…As you can imagine it was frequently the case that my mother's job was more dangerous than my father's.

Arranging a hit on someone is surprisingly not complicated. If you know someone who knows someone who knows someone it can be done face to face. If not, then there's the 'dark net' – that weird corner of the internet where the creeps and killers live. This method is risky though – everything a person does on-line can be traced back to the person…After a hit has been arranged, the money is transferred and the target tracked down. This is when the waiting begins – unlike the myths that are shown on TV, not every target can be taken down by shooting them through a window from half a mile away. Sometimes you need to get a little more…creative.

Like anybody who engages in illegal activities, the biggest risk is getting caught. This is especially true if your job is to kill people. Not only will the cops be on your case, but so will the FBI and more annoyingly, SHIELD. Back before I was born, the 2 most annoying SHIELD monkeys were the Black widow and Hawkeye – 2 highly dangerous assassins. When I was 3 one of their 2 kids was killed in a car smash – after that their SHIELD activities dropped to zero. Their bad news was our good news. With the 2 assassins now allegedly taking desk jobs, my father practically had free reign. The rumour was that they were working in SHIELD intelligence.

I would love to say that my first job was a swashbuckling success and made me out to be the biggest badass in the whole of Boston. But that didn't happen. The target was a Boston man who'd stacked up a mountain of drug debts. His creditors had realised he was never gonna pay so they sought to 'terminate the contract' instead…I spent 5 days trailing his every move, learning his routine, looking for patterns, opportunities. What was clear was that he liked to spend a lot of time in his back yard. There was an empty property that overlooked it so that's where I set up my equipment. The opportunity came within the next 15 hours. He was ripping up weeds, alone. Perfect. Except I hesitated. It's one thing to shoot at a paper target with a face drawn on than it is to shoot at another living human being. Especially when that human has a wife and kids, the whole nine yards. That hesitation nearly cost me the job. I had to wait another 3 days before I got another opportunity and then I had to do it. I had no choice. You don't realise as a kid how much things you do will affect you, in the mind I mean. Kids aren't supposed to kill people. Nobody is supposed to kill people – it's not human. But it's what we do – what we have to do. Focussing on the job, the career and the money keeps us going, keeps us alive.

I went back to a shitstorm of criticism and anger, not what I was needing but it was what I deserved. I hadn't been training for 11 years to hesitate and nearly screw up the whole thing. That night my father visited me in my room and we had a pep talk. Apparently his first job had been a complete mess too. That made me feel better.

Over the next 2 years things progressively got easier. They never got any nicer (I was still taking life) but it got easier. Some jobs I did on my own, some I did with my father. Not all jobs were middle aged men – well they were all men but they varied in age considerably. The youngest was my age, a teenager. The oldest? I'm pretty sure he was in his 80s. Looking back I'd say they were 2 pretty good years, I'd even go as far as saying they were happy. It's a shame that my own attitude got in the way of the so-called 'happiness'.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: How not to do your job

It has been known throughout human history that emotions have the ability to cloud a person's judgment. This is, in my opinion, most prominent in the parent/child relationship. On the one hand you have the parents who have invested love, time, energy and money into bringing up a child. The pain of losing said child is so great that many parents allow emotions to cloud their judgment. In most cases, this leads to kids that have had 'cotton wool' childhoods; can't go outside to play because the roads aren't safe, can't stay over at a friend's house because a criminal background check hasn't been done on the parents…The parents natural need to protect their children can prevent the child from accessing necessary levels of independence. In my case, much the same thing happened. Obviously not in relation to sleepovers and things like that but more because, even at 18, my parent were still not allowing me access to the most dangerous jobs. They continuously went to my father, a man who was now in his 50s. I can understand this idea of thinking now, but back then, I could not.

Of course exactly the same thing could be said for me. My own judgment was being heavily clouded by emotion. It is universal around the world that at 18 kids suddenly feel a god given right to complete and full independence from their parents. In most cases, this is a bad idea. The most recent research has shown that the brain doesn't reach its fully mature, adult state until 25. 25! Meaning that kids at 18 are just that – kids! But if you want to try telling that to an 18 year old, especially me at 18, you would have gotten a fist in your face.

This all came to a head 6 months after I turned 18. I had been given the details of a new job I was going to be sent on. Except I was of the opinion that I was too good for the job and that it should have gone to a much less experienced assassin. All of my pent up frustration and anger came to a head the morning I was due to leave. Cue me screaming that they weren't appreciating my skill level and them shouting back that they wanted to make sure I was properly ready before committing me to 'the hard stuff'. The fight itself didn't last long but I was still 'sulking' by the time I was due to leave.

One thing an assassin needs to have every second when on the job is their wits about them. Something which might not happen when you are emotionally compromised. And nearly everybody gets emotionally compromised after having a fight with their parents. So it is really no surprise that I didn't see that tail that I had developed.

This job was supposed to be really quite simple. I was being sent to New York to take out a government official who was getting in the way of a 'business opportunity'. This guy was considered to be an easy hit because he liked to frequent hotels with prostitutes. For us, this is gold dust. Give a prostitute enough money or drugs and they'll do anything, including opening the door when you come knocking. Kill the target and the prostitute, take back the drugs and/or money, then leave. Easy.

Except that I was being watched, and because I was upset I hadn't noticed. I'd been in New York for 3 days and had seen my opportunity. He'd consulted with a prostitute who I had then bribed with $500 worth of the best heroin around. I had just left my room when was hit in the back of the head with a fire extinguisher and I fell on my face. As I turned around to fight back my limbs were pinned down by this sticky white crap which the dick shit then used to shut my mouth. As the sedative was injected into my neck I got a good look at his blue and red Spandex suit and the black spider sprawled across his chest. I'd just been caught by Spider-man. Shit.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Blood is thicker than water…or is it?

I had never been in a situation like this before, but that doesn't mean I didn't know what to do. Step 1: determine orientation. I mean positional orientation, not like, the other form. The best way to do this is to dribble, if the dribble goes down you're the right way up. Step 2: determine what you can and cannot move. If you can move an appendage it gives the possibility of escape. I could wiggle my feet, which was something, but nothing else in the leg region. My arms were completely tied behind the chair I was in and apparently tied at the wrist. The kick in the groin was that my hands had been tied together so no wiggle room. Step 3: use your senses to gather information. Well I couldn't hear anything so that was out, unless you're a dog smelling is useless and it seemed like there was a bag over my head. So yeah, everything was going great. And apparently I needed to pee – this was turning out to be a very good day.

It felt like I had waited for hours, but I was being deprived of my senses and my bladder was full, so it was more like 30 minutes before I finally heard footsteps. The door opened and a man (judging by the footsteps) walked in, placed stuff on a table then removed my hood. After my eyes had re-adjusted I got a good look at him. He was young, which was surprising and of Indian (?) ethnicity. He introduced himself as Agent Patel after taking the seat opposite me then proceeded with the questions. What was my name? Where was I from? How old was I? Who did I work for? All very predictable. I wasn't surprised. My plan was to stay silent – it was my constitutional right to plead the 5th. Most interrogations went like this. They start off with all the predictable crap before pulling out their trump card. It was the trump card I was waiting for. But after the predictably crap questions and a routine DNA test…the trump card never came, which left me very confused. Agent Patel was then replaced by 2 SHIELD goons who proceeded to sedate me.

This time when I woke up I was clearly horizontal, my limbs were free and I was busting for a piss. Thankfully, there was a toilet just a few feet away. The cell was…small and unbelievably bare. There was no window and must have been no bigger than 7ft by 10ft. The walls were white and there was a shelf, I'm gonna call it a shelf, that housed a wipe down mattress and the thinnest pillow I have ever seen in my life. Then there was the tamper proof toilet that I was currently sitting on. They'd also taken anything that could possibly be used as a weapon and apparently this included my shoes. I expected I would be there for a few hours but I wasn't expecting that I would be there for 3 days. Don't worry, they kept me fed and watered but I hadn't showered and I was bored out of my mind. I didn't look good.

After 3 long, long, long days I was finally escorted from my cell, in handcuffs and leg chains, back to the room I was initially questioned in. 5 minutes later, a new agent walked in. He was older, possibly in his 60s, balding and about as ordinary looking as a toothbrush in a bathroom. Despite this, I could tell that this guy was important – he had that 'I'm in charge' look about him. He introduced himself as Director Coulson, head of SHIELD. So I was right about him being important.

"You've thrown us a curve ball, kid."

I had?

"We've been tracking you and your little unit for some time now. Unfortunately, we weren't able to grab the other 2, but you're here so that's something."

He proceeded to open a file that contained only 5 pictures. One was me, 2 were my parents, and the others were a woman and a man in their 50s, maybe 60s.

"You were brought up by these 2 here." He pointed to my parents. "But you were born to these 2 here." He said whilst pointing to the other 2.

I remained silent, the gears in my mind were working away furiously. I think my face was giving away my confusion but in all honesty it was something that I had wondered about since I was very small. Even kids know that they are supposed to look like their parents, and I just, didn't…People say in these situations that they never believe it until they see hard evidence but I did believe him, I believed him completely.

"Do you know who your birth parents are?" I shook my head. "Well, this woman is a current SHIELD agent formerly known as the Black Widow and this man is also a current agent formerly known as Hawkeye." He stopped talking.

The blood drained from my face, ringing started in my ears, white spots appeared in my vision, and I fainted. As I went down, I realised that this was one hell of a trump card.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Home is where the heart is

This time when I woke up I wasn't alone. I was back in my cell certainly, but I wasn't alone. Director Coulson was sitting at the edge of my bed with a small smile slowly spreading across his face.

"You and I need to discuss what's going to happen now."

I didn't want to talk. I wanted to ponder my new found fondness for being unconscious. I settled for a small glare to try and smack the small smile off of his face – it didn't work.

"We need to start with a short history lesson. 15 years ago it was announced to the public that Jessica Barton, that's you, had been killed in a car accident, with her parents and twin brother surviving. But it was a cover up. You were kidnapped whilst the avengers were out on a mission. Let's be clear here. In the past 2 and a half years you have killed 27 people, this is a fact SHIELD cannot ignore. Usually, we would put someone like you in a cell very far away and never let them out. But we want to offer you a choice. In 2 and a half years time you will be working for SHIELD, any department, we don't even care where. In the meantime you'll be under house arrest in the Old Avenger's Tower, making up for the time you were on the job. You'll be able to get to know your parents and the rest of your family, which is pretty big by the way. I'll give you 24 hours to think about it."

He got up and left. This was the deal of a life time! Honestly, if I'd been arrested by anyone else, I'd have been sent down for life, but because I happened to be a kid who was snatched as a toddler I'd effectively walk free! I mean, all I would have to do was sit it out for 30 months and then take off. I had an old identity stashed somewhere – hack a few computers, delete a few databases, I'd be free. It would be easy.

I was surprisingly nervous in the car. It only really hit me as we approached the tower what exactly I'd signed myself up for. 2 and a half years was an awful long time. They were all older than I was expecting, even though I knew how old they were. My 'dad' took one look at me, burst into tears then pulled me into a tight hug. I didn't know what to do so I just stood there. My 'mom' was more reserved, but she was still smiling. She too then joined the hug, with me still just standing there. The rest of the introductions were brief. One of them though, Philip, my twin, literally had to be pulled away because he couldn't stop talking about how happy he was to meet me.

I spent the first week cooped up in my room with Philip knocking on my door every 2 hours asking if I wanted to leave my room. When I wasn't getting hounded by Philip, I was getting harassed by Daniel, Stark's eldest son. Everyday he'd come to my door asking for all the different ways I'd killed people. Daniel's younger brother Alex was annoying too, but in a different way. He seemed like a much kinder boy, his most frequent concerns were about whether I'd had enough to eat or if I needed another book to read. My 'parents' also came by every day to try and coax me into talking. Bruce would even use the excuse of having to check my vitals just so he could come in and say hi.

After my first week I was beginning to feel the walls of my room closing in on my so I ventured outside. Of course my 'family' were thrilled, they saw this as major progress so put every effort into making sure I was involved in every single activity. I was finding it suffocating. I was raised with cold indifference, bonding through the death of others. This was not a form of love that I was used to. For the first time in my life I began to get homesick. I missed the training, the jobs, the adrenaline, the stress. I missed my parents. I was only 3 weeks into my stay before the Old Avengers were called out to meet with Coulson on the helicarrier. I broke into Tony's lab, took a circular saw to my ankle to cut off the tag and walked out of the tower. I didn't look back.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Sometimes, it's the truth that hurts the most.

We had plans for something like this. If anyone one of us were to get captured, the rest would go into hiding until more information would be obtained after which they would continue to move round the safe houses until all traces of possible tails had been lost. We had 11 safe houses – in America. With many others scattered across the globe, a lot of which were shared with others in the game. It was a rule we had that we couldn't be further than 500 miles from a safe house at any one time. That's roughly the distance between London and Geneva. I had been traveling across the states in a stolen pick-up truck when I pulled up to our 3rd safe house. This one was looking more promising. The previous 2 had been recently vacated by my parents, but despite this, they provided good resting stops on my search.

The 3rd safe house was in Chicago, in an old apartment block that needed serious work done to it. In terms of a hiding place it was perfect – they all were. Contrary to popular belief, it is much easier to hide in cities than it is to hide in the country. In the country, everybody notices anything new and everyone cares; in the city, nobody notices and nobody cares.

My heart was pounding walking up the steps to the 3rd floor. I kept a hand gun within easy reach, I was never sure who was gonna open the door when I gave the knock. It was my mother that opened the door, she pulled it open fast when she saw it was me, gripping me in a tight hug. This was quickly followed by a hard slap across my right cheek, I was gonna have a mark there the next morning. I was finally brought into the apartment to see my father, who had come out of the kitchen after hearing all the noise. He gave a small "good to see ya, kid" before retreating back to the kitchen.

I knew what the drill would be; keep on moving and don't stop until they give up looking. The problem was that we weren't dealing with some ordinary government agency, we were dealing with SHIELD – not just SHIELD but the Avengers too! Nobody wanted to say anything, but we all knew that we would probably be running for the rest of our lives. The avengers were never gonna give up looking for one of their own family. We moved from property to property, from identity to identity, across every corner of the states. Never daring to stay in an area for longer than a few weeks. My parents were unable to take jobs due to the risk of being caught and as a result, the money was starting to run out. The stress, the pressure, it was all making life impossible. Tensions were running seriously high, my parents would fight over anything, and right in the middle of it all would be me – the cause of all of this trouble.

My father started to look at me weird, always at times when he thought I wasn't looking. He was making me nervous, it was the same look he would give to clients. He was studying me, watching my every move. It had been 6 months, could it be possible that he was beginning to lose it? I didn't think it would be as simple as that. He had stopped openly discussing the plans in front of me, I was always having to find out where we were going and what we were doing from my mother. He had even starting carrying his gun with him everywhere, including around the apartment, which included the bathroom.

On the night in question, I had woken up at 3 am after the front door had closed, I am a light sleeper and would never have missed something like that. When I got out of bed to see what was going on, I found that my door was locked. I started to panic, it was a rule that we were to never be locked in our rooms. I tried to look for something to pick the lock but in my desperation I couldn't find anything. Minutes passed. My head whipped around as the glass from my window was blown in and the gold and red suit of Iron Man descended to my eye line, tranquiliser gun in hand.

The sedative wasn't strong, wasn't strong at all. I was awake when I was pulled past my parent's room, still containing the lifeless body of mother on the bed. Her arm was hanging over the side, a small trickle of blood making its way down her fingers. As we exited the apartment, with Iron Man dragging me by the arm pits, the darkness of unconsciousness approaching, I saw my father standing next to Director Coulson. As the darkness enveloped me, I felt the cold, sharp sting of betrayal.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: To be the apple of their eyes

I woke up back in that same goddamn cell, or at least I thought it was the same one. For all I knew they could have had more than one cell that looked like this. That's when my mind caught up with me and I remembered exactly what had happened last night. My mother…she was, she was dead. I was never going to see her again. Killed by that bastard I called a father for 15 years.

I choked back a sob, the lump in my throat pushing its way up trying to make me cry. I sat up from my piece of shit bed (if you can call it that) and noticed that they'd left me a sandwich and some water. I didn't have the appetite to eat anything.

I leaned back against the wall and tucked my knees up to my chin. My fight was gone from me. I didn't care what happened to me now. I couldn't even bring myself to care about whether they were gonna throw me in a cell forever, or worse. I didn't care what interview tactics they used, what trump card they had set up, whether they would even go as far as torture. I just didn't care. All I wanted at that moment was to have my mother here with me, alive.

After a while I was taken back to the interview room. My head remained focussed on the ground, my shoulders hunched over, remaining that way as I took a seat across from Director Coulson. I knew he had a speech prepared which didn't bother me, I wasn't planning on saying anything anyway.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you."

That lump in my throat was really making its presence felt now.

"Believe it or not, the people in the Avengers tower want to help you. They want to help you get a normal life, or at least a life that's a bit more normal. But you have to let them help you. They won't help if you're not willing to _be_ helped."

I nodded, my gaze still focussed fully on the table. I didn't dare open my mouth, I knew what would happen if I tried to talk.

"For the sake of bureaucracy, I have to you a choice as to what happens now. We're gonna let you leave if you want, you can walk right out of here. We'll even give you 24 hours head start before we come after you and we hunt you down like any other rogue assassin. Upon capture, and you _will_ be captured, you'll be treated like any other criminal we bring in, your destination upon arriving would all depend on whether you were alive or dead. Walk out of here now, and we will wipe it off your record who your parents are, Jessica Barton will be formerly declared dead, and you will be treated as an unknown.

"Or, and this is the option I recommend you take, you go back to the tower. We'll have to tighten up security obviously, we'll probably even confine you to your parents' floor for a while, but largely the same rules as before apply.

"Give them a chance this time, Jessica."

He got up, came over to my side of the table and undid my handcuffs and leg shackles. He left the room, taking them with him, leaving the door wide open.

I looked up for the first time since coming in here, staring at the open door. He was right, I could just walk out of here, start a fresh, maybe even set up my own mini assassin business. But even as I was considering all the possibilities of potential freedom, I knew I just didn't have the fight left in me to carry it out. I didn't have the energy to go on the run, and deep down I knew I didn't even want to anyway.

So I just sat there, waiting for something to happen. But the lump was still in my throat and now I had no reason to hold it back.

I burst into tears.

After what felt like about an hour I calmed down and tried to clean my face. That was when Coulson came back, stood at the door and simply said, "You made the right choice." before walking away again. A SHIELD agent then entered to re-cuff me and take me back to my cell.

During my 'questioning' they had put a fresh set of clothes on my bed, I guess they wanted me to look nice for my return to the real world.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Where there's a will, there's a way

They'd given me a few hours to get myself together before my second trip to the tower. It provided a good opportunity to contemplate the situation I had found myself in. I knew that this was it, the last chance I would ever get. If I screwed this up I knew that eventually SHIELD would kill me, unless I was killed by another person first.

The problem was that I just couldn't see anyone else as my mother; in my mind, I only had one not two and that person was now dead. My 'mom' may have given birth to me, but she wasn't the one that taught me to read or stopped me from crying after a nightmare. In my mind, the only thing she gave me was life, my mother gave me everything else. I didn't have this same problem with my dad, I was pretty willing to give him the chance at being my new male parent, that other bastard could rot in hell for I care. As the SHIELD agents came to my cell to take me to the car, I knew I needed to come up with a solution fast – this just wasn't gonna work if I had to go around calling her 'mom'.

As we approached the tower I couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt going through my chest. Coulson was right, these people had wanted to help me and I'd just gone and thrown it in their faces. I could only hope that they would take me back again.

Mercifully, the tower was empty of Stark staff – this would be a bad time for me to run into strangers. I kept my head down when we arrived at the floor which turned out to be largely empty except for 2 people. One of them I was OK with calling Dad, the other? Well I was pretty sure I'd be sticking to Natasha for some time. I kept my head down as they came over to say hi, with my dad adding 'It's good to have you back'. I felt that stab of guilt in my chest again.

I was glad when they left me alone in my room and I realised that this was a good opportunity to get a good look at it. It had changed since I was last in here. Before, the walls were covered in pictures and photos that were all taken before I was kidnapped, a constant reminder of my unnatural upbringing. Before, they hadn't bothered with books or a TV or computer – it was a cruel way of trying to encourage me to leave my room. This time however, my shelves were full of books and they had even provided me with a laptop. Nearly all the pictures were gone except one of the 4 of us together playing at the beach. But they'd added another and to this day I have no idea of how they got it. Taking centre place on my bedside table was a picture of my mother, the woman that I missed with all of my heart.

They were keeping people away from our floor. It was the next morning and I was yet to leave my room but our floor was blissfully quiet. I knew the others were still in the tower and even Philip was here somewhere but he was being kept away too. For now it really was just the three of us.

I heard them leave the floor at some point during midmorning, so I decided that his was a good opportunity to take a look around. I didn't get very far in my quest, I saw the big ass TV on the wall and made a bee-line for it. I'd missed crappy daytime TV.

I was still there when my parents came back up-stairs. I really had to fight the urge to run back to safety, but I held my ground and gave them a small smile instead. They beamed back smiles in return but we didn't exchange any words – I liked that. It was pretty clear that they were taking my lead on this.

I felt confident enough to have dinner with them that evening; it was an odd experience as no words were exchanged at all, by anyone. Again, I felt more comfortable with the quiet. On the 4th day we were watching a film, it was 9pm. I turned to Dad and asked, 'Can I have a hot chocolate?'. I knew that I didn't need to ask permission to have one, it was just that I finally felt ready to talk to them.

Over the next few days, conversations between the 3 of us slowly began to grow. Although we would always avoid certain topics, I don't think any of us were ready to discuss those yet. After another week I was re-introduced to Phillip. It turned out that he loved, and I mean _loved_ , to spar. Our bond was formed not through words, but through the never ending challenge of trying to beat each other up.

And this is how I was introduced to everyone else in the family; one at a time and only when I was ready despite the fact that this took 3 months to do! I would love to be able to say that the next 2 years flew by and was over before I knew it. But boredom is a terrible thing and over the next 2 years I lost count of the number of times I stood at the front doors of the Avengers tower, wanting nothing more than to take one more step forward, to the outside. I always ended up taking a step backwards instead.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Epilogue

2 years later.

The 2 and a half years that I spent under house arrest were the hardest years of my life. The only reason I pulled through and made it to the other side was because of my family that I had all around me. My Dad would teach me new shooting techniques, my mom would teach me new sparring moves that I would then use on Philip. All of them made it possible.

The day that I was able to leave the tower for the first time was one of the best of my life. The freedom I felt when I was finally able to leave the tower was incredible. That doesn't mean to say that I walked away and never came back! Pepper had organised a congratulatory dinner, so I didn't stay out for long.

The next day during my meeting with Director Coulson I got to choose where in SHIELD I would work. As a family, we'd already decided that the best place for me was at the academy, training recruits. This was an idea that Uncle Phil (oops, did I say that?), I mean Director Coulson, loved. I got to use my talents without actually using my talents. Using my skills without ending life. Even after I started I was still on probation for a year and I still had to wear a tag that monitored my movements. But to be honest I really didn't care about that. I got rid of the tag 12 months ago.

Currently, I am sitting on the bridge of the Hellicarrier waiting to be called to see Director Coulson. I'm up for promotion. I can see Philip from here – he's a SHIELD analyst, which basically means that he looks at incoming Intel from field agents. He looks uncomfortable though, maybe I should tell him that it's not compulsory to wear the cat suit.

My phone buzzes to life with a message saying that the Director is ready to see me now.

The End.


End file.
